Chapter 16

Shu Chi sat numbly before the computer for a long time, so long that she didn’t know what sound came from outside.

In the deep night, it sounded exceptionally clear.

Someone shouted, “It’s snowing.”

Shu Chi instinctively looked toward the window.

Her study looked starkly empty, resembling a personal cinema more than a study.

The computer desk was right next to the floor-to-ceiling window, offering a view of the nighttime cityscape in the small hours.

The distant office towers still had their lights on. The landmark buildings were still lit, some screens still scrolling advertisements.

It actually snowed this year.

Shu Chi was born and bred a southerner. People from her hometown spoke terribly nonstandard Mandarin. Her elementary school teacher reading aloud the poem “Gazing at the Cascade on Lu Mountain” could make the students burst out laughing.

Then the kids reading the poem themselves would have accents equally crooked, carrying a damp sea-wave flavor. Whenever they opened their mouths, there was no refined elegance, only the stench of sea.

But Shu Chi didn’t need to open her mouth. In junior high, morning reading classes were as good as nothing for her.

Because she couldn’t speak.

This even caused many classmates to envy her. They said Shu Chi didn’t fear being randomly called on to answer questions, and she never had to recite texts aloud from memory.

People are always like that, treating what others have lost as another kind of shortcut. Just like Shu Chi being mute, she could even receive the school’s meal subsidy for disabled students.

Conditions in the small village weren’t good. If you talked about hardship, every household could count as struggling. Basically, all the kids were left-behind children.

Shu Chi lost her voice before elementary school. Her mom took her to see a doctor, but it was useless. In the end, it just stayed that way as she grew up.

Puxi, throughout the years Shu Chi grew up there, never snowed. The winters were very short.

Over these years, Shu Chi hadn’t never been north. When she traveled for business inspections with Jing Yuqi, she’d taken a few photos along the way. Jing Yuqi had been utterly astonished back then.

After all, Shu Chi was someone who even avoided group photos.

Jing Yuqi had asked, “Has the sun risen from the west?”

Shu Chi shook her head, her eyes very peaceful as she said, “First time seeing snow.”

Jing Yuqi first met Shu Chi in Banyan City. Puxi was a small county underneath Banyan City, and Shu Chi’s home was a corner within that county.

A small county of seventy thousand people. Those truly left were all children and the elderly. All the young adults had gone out to work.

Like her two older sisters, Shu Chi finished junior high. Compared to her eldest and second sisters, who worked for two years then got married, Shu Chi seemed more adept at enduring.

That photo she took, Shu Chi saved it on her computer. Countless times she wanted to send it to that account, but she never hit send.

-Book Late, it’s snowing over here, just a little though [Picture]

-It doesn’t really snow over here either, unless it’s exceptionally cold. Even then, it only snows up in the mountains. What about over there?

Shu Chi had honestly said she hadn’t seen snow before.

Had only seen it in textbooks.

-That makes sense for where you are. It’s still so warm there while it’s already autumn here.

-Now? Surely you’re wearing sweaters, right? Recently, knitted scarves are super trendy online! I’ll try it out. If I succeed, I’ll make one for you.

Later, that topic was never brought up again. It was likely a failed attempt.

Shu Chi had actually remembered it for a very long time.

Since childhood, she never proactively asked for things. Her family didn’t have that luxury, having anything at all was good enough.

Even among her older sisters’ cast-off clothes, some might not be given to her. They might be altered for the younger brothers after her.

Even if she came to Banyan City to work, of course she could afford a ten-yuan scarf on her total monthly salary.

But she would also just endure, pulling her jacket zipper all the way up. It was the same windproofing.

If it was too cold, working kept her warm, delivering order after order to the school. Even the most freezing cold could eventually turn warm.

But what warmed her heart was always that person’s words.

She said she missed me.

I miss her so much too.

Shu Chi stood by the bed and took a photo. Outside the window, light snowflakes drifted, difficult to capture clearly.

Opening WeChat Moments, it was completely full of posts about this snow.

But Shu Chi’s gaze remained fixed on the computer screen. Gnawing at her lip, she sent a message to Bean Sprout’s account—

Long time no see. Are you doing alright?

No reply.

Probably offline. Perhaps she still didn’t want to speak to her.

Why?

After all these years, Shu Chi still didn’t understand why the other person had left without saying goodbye.

When Jing Yuqi woke up the next day after drinking, she found it was almost afternoon.

Mu Ling had just come out from the shower. She tossed Jing Yuqi her fully charged phone. “Shu Chi went to take your daughter to school.”

Jing Yuqi’s hair looked like a chicken coop. She sat on the bed in a daze for a long time. “When did you get up?”

Mu Ling said, “A bit earlier than you. I happened to run into her leaving.”

Shu Chi looked as if she hadn’t slept at all. Even makeup couldn’t hide her dark circles, but she had finished making breakfast.

Jing Yuqi said, “So virtuous.”

Shu Chi’s house also had many clothes with the tags still on. Mu Ling randomly picked something to wear and said, “She looked like she slept badly, very much out of spirits.”

Jing Yuqi said, “Wasn’t it because us two drunkards caused trouble?”

Mu Ling said, “Don’t blame me. I didn’t cause any trouble. Mainly, the alcohol Shu Chi brewed herself was too strong. Only she can hold it.”

Rubbing her hair and yawning, Jing Yuqi replied, “She was always able to drink.”

She lit her phone screen and let out a “Wow.” “It snowed?”

Mu Ling nodded.

Xiaohu attended a private elementary school in Bramble City. Classes started at eight-thirty in the morning. Shu Chi had waited all night for Bean Sprout’s message, which remained silent, only dozing off a bit near dawn.

But not much later, the kid woke up.

She showered, made breakfast, and took the kid to school. There was still some morning traffic, and they almost arrived late.

The post-snow Bramble City looked a vast expanse of white. Sitting in the car, Xiaohu stared at Shu Chi for a long time.

Xiaohu often rode in Shu Chi’s car. If Shu Chi didn’t have to meet clients on weekends, she would take Xiaohu out to play, or to the welfare institute to play games with the other kids.

While waiting in traffic, Shu Chi pinched the bridge of her nose. Xiaohu noticed Shu Chi’s upright phone displaying a new message and reminded her—

“Auntie, someone sent you a WeChat message.”

Shu Chi hadn’t yet had a chance to listen to Mu Ling’s advice about setting messages to hidden.

Xiaohu glanced over. Her vocabulary was limited, but Ding Ya’s name was easy to recognize.

The kid watched Shu Chi tap open the message. The other had sent a voice message—

“Good morning. It snowed.”

Xiaohu laughed. “But it’s already finished snowing!”

Driving, it wasn’t easy for Shu Chi to type. She replied with a sticker.

Ding Ya asked again, “Did you go to work yet?”

She also sent a video of the little dog she had adopted.

Xiaohu glanced at Shu Chi. “Can I press play?”

Shu Chi nodded.

In the short video, the small puppy stumbled over, its ears not yet standing, fuzzy and exceptionally cute.

Kids all love this kind of fluffy thing. Jing Yuqi had two cats at home, both strays she had picked up. Ironically, it was Xiaohu who scooped the litter every day.

Laughing while watching, Xiaohu asked, “Auntie Shu Chi, what do you want to reply? I can help type it!”

Shu Chi said gravely, “I’m still thinking.”

The kid seemed extremely baffled that an adult needed to think to reply to a message, taking Shu Chi’s phone and looking at it for a long time.

She tapped into Shu Chi’s stickers herself and chose a cute rabbit one and sent it.

Shu Chi: …

Xiaohu blinked her eyes at Shu Chi. “Auntie Shu Chi won’t be mad, right?”

Shu Chi said, “No.”

Ding Ya had just left home and was about to take the subway. In the morning, she had seen the message Shu Chi sent to her original account.

Sent in the small hours of the morning.

She wasn’t in a rush to reply there, instead sending a routine WeChat message to Shu Chi.

A person like Shu Chi, when chatting, typed like she had nothing to say—humming and hawing, the type that could extinguish anyone’s urge to speak, fully displayed on her.

As if she absolutely had to make anyone chasing her retreat in awe.

But Ding Ya had long since grown used to it ten years ago. She didn’t care what sticker Shu Chi sent anyway.

Because at her core, this person wasn’t the type who genuinely didn’t want to engage.

She just seemed innately a bit silly. Flowery words were harder for Shu Chi than climbing to heaven.

Xiaohu saw the person chatting with Shu Chi had a dog head avatar. She tapped their profile pic picture to enlarge it.

With practiced ease, she went to look at Ding Ya’s WeChat Moments.

Last night, Ding Ya had posted a photo—a picture taken beside an ancient pavilion. The lighting was dim, showing only half of her face.

Hidden in the darkness was a tall, slender figure. At a glance, you might even overlook it.

Ding Ya’s caption wasn’t that artistic. Her tone was quite lively.

-Went to Willow Garden on the weekend and got this photo shoot from a lucky draw. Isn’t this a fairy descending to earth?

Since there was no doge emoji in WeChat Moments, she manually typed out an English “doge” too.

Even elementary school kids nowadays understood this sort of thing.

Ding Ya’s WeChat Moments were set to six-month visibility, but she hadn’t posted much either. After scrolling through, Xiaohu returned to her latest photo and, somehow, let out a loud exclamation.

Coming to another intersection, Shu Chi asked what was wrong.

Xiaohu zoomed in on the photo. “Auntie Shu Chi! Is this you?!”

The kid’s chubby finger pointed at the figure behind Ding Ya, hidden in the darkness. The lights had only traced a meager outline along her hair tie. Easily overlooked at a glance, just like a shadow.

Shu Chi glanced at it and hummed in confirmation.

Xiaohu asked, “Is she the older sister you were talking to on the phone yesterday?”

Shu Chi still remembered how that topic came up yesterday. She reached out and ruffled Xiaohu’s hair. The kid’s braids had been done by her that morning.

Shu Chi was utterly helpless. “Why are you so wickedly smart?”

Xiaohu was quite miffed at being called that. “I’m a great genius! So it’s her, right? Does Auntie Shu Chi like her?”

“This older sister is so pretty! She even has dimples!”

Xiaohu clutched the phone, refusing to let go. “The skirt is really pretty too! I want to wear one like that. Last time Mom went out to play and didn’t take me…”

Shu Chi said, “It’s not her.”

Xiaohu let out a “Hmph.” “But Auntie Shu Chi doesn’t even have to think to reply to others.”

The kid’s eyes were dewy and bright. A human cub at this age was adorable without any need for facial structural advantages.

Shu Chi hesitated and asked with a smile, “Is that so?”

Xiaohu hummed twice in confirmation. “You even went to take photos together. Mom says Auntie Shu Chi really hates taking photos. If this isn’t liking someone, what is?”

Kids are sometimes frighteningly sharp, let alone a cub like Xiaohu, who had never had a father in her life.

She was a bit more precocious than ordinary children, equally disliking all of Jing Yuqi’s boyfriends.

Those men who wanted to latch onto a rich woman, looking to use the child to get close, had never once succeeded.

Shu Chi’s heart trembled strongly. Before she could speak, Xiaohu merrily read out Ding Ya’s new message—

“There’s something I don’t know who to tell. Do you still remember that online husband I mentioned to you?”

The kid let out a “Eh?” “What does ‘online husband’ mean?”

What “husband” meant, she knew.

Shu Chi also didn’t know how to explain. Fortunately, they had already driven up to the school gate. She hurriedly urged the kid to go into school.

But Shu Chi didn’t drive away immediately either. Her car was parked by the roadside. Inside the car, she looked at Ding Ya’s most recent message—

“He died, but his account suddenly came online. It scared me to death.”

“Tell me, should I send a message to ask?”

This person, Ding Ya, was somewhat special in Shu Chi’s impression.

Mostly because of the online romance factor, and also the other’s talk of those nostalgic games.

Many people now reject that era of the past, and some don’t understand it.

But people are already composed of memories. Even if Shu Chi tried to carve out that section of memory like cutting out flesh, she couldn’t ignore that becoming the person she was today was also driven by her “wife” back then.

She wanted to ride in luxury cars, so I wanted to work hard and earn money.

She turned me into a living, breathing person.

She made my world go from having “no way to open my mouth” to having “nowhere to pour out all I had to say.”

And then, she was gone.

Ding Ya shared a similar affliction with her.

Like experiencers within the same spacetime of a single era.

Ding Ya spoke again. “I’m so excited, and also very scared.”

Shu Chi understood this fear.

As Ding Ya arrived at her company, she received a voice message from Shu Chi—

“Don’t be afraid. What if he never got cancer, never died, and just misses you?”

This person’s voice was utterly ordinary. You could hear something similar just riding the subway.

But at this moment, Ding Ya’s heart was thoroughly unsettled by that sentence, unable to maintain its calm.

She revealed an excited smile, yet replied with a line that was exceptionally collected—

“Impossible.”

“She said she would love me her whole life. How could she bear to trick me.”